


carol of the bells

by impossiblepluto



Series: have yourself a fluffy, whumpy christmas [15]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, army days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21819832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: Mac and Jack run into some trouble during an assignment in the sandbox a few days before Christmas.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: have yourself a fluffy, whumpy christmas [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552330
Comments: 12
Kudos: 114





	carol of the bells

**Author's Note:**

> Reading "the first noel" is not necessary but might be helpful

“Alright, Carl’s Junior,” Jack says, laying on his belly and peering through the scope of his rifle. Scanning the street for activity before giving the all clear. “I’m in position, and you’re good to go.” 

“Copy,” Mac replies. He tugs the collar of his flak jacket closed against the chill with a shiver and shoulders his pack more securely onto his back. “Heading in.”

Jack finds himself mimicking Mac’s action and pulling his jacket tighter, tugging on his gloves, only his trigger finger bare. He releases a slow breath, watching the puff of warm vapor hang moist on the air. It doesn’t seem fair for the temperatures to dip below freezing in the desert. Not when just a month ago they’d be cooking if they were out here.

From his perch, Jack watches Mac approach the building. The street nearly empty. Doors slamming shut, neighbors disappearing behind walls as soon as they arrived. Not even curtains fluttering in windows from nosy neighbors watching them. It’s enough to tell both men that their intel is good. Something is up. 

It’s also enough to make the hair on the back of Jack’s neck stand up, prickling against his collar. 

He hates clearing buildings. Sending Mac out of sight. He hates watching Mac hunched over a clump of wires with enough explosives to obliterate him. The kid should be home in California in the warm sunshine, or shivering as he walks to classes at MIT, grinning when he makes things explode on purpose. Anywhere but here and in danger. But even as he thinks that thought, Jack doesn't like it. Doesn't like the idea of Mac out of his sight, in that building before him or in his life.  


“Keep your head on a swivel, dude. My line of sight is garbage once you get in there,” Jack growls through the comms. He remains still, the only sign of the tension that thrums under his skin is the minute tapping of his finger against the trigger guard. 

Cold beige skies blend with the puffs of swirling sand, the Humvee and the desert camo. 

“Aw, you getting worried about me, Mr. Careful?” Mac asks and turns his head just enough so Jack can see his teasing smile, as he pauses at the entryway, examining the door for tripwires before stepping through, disappearing from Jack’s sight. 

Jack’s gut twists uncomfortably. He scans the street and buildings before focusing again on the one Mac just entered, catching glimpses of his partner through windows, doorways, and holes punched into blown out walls as he systematically clears each room. 

“Yeah, with good reason. My name is Careful. Yours? Not so much.”

He is worried. Something about this hangs heavy over him. Jack tries to put his finger on it as he assesses their surroundings again. 

“How can I be both painstakingly slow and not careful?”

“I don’t know, but you do it. Must be the trait of the bomb nerd. Only guys crazy enough to run towards an explosion.”

“Says the Delta,” Mac snorts. 

“Yeah, but I got a team and a gun. You’ve got a pair of pliers and a paperclip. Maybe a gum wrapper if you feel like it might be a particularly challenging bomb.” 

Through the window, Jack can see Mac pause to examine something on the floor, glancing at his surroundings as he moves slowly. He notes new stiffness of the kid’s shoulders under his BDUs and beneath his pack. He’s about to ask what MacGyver found when he moves on. 

And Jack realizes, his tension on this assignment is rubbing off on the kid. Not necessarily a bad thing, not if it keeps the kid alert and aware, but for all Jack’s teasing, the kid is always alert and aware. He’s exceptionally careful, always thinking about twenty-seven steps ahead and has a contingency plan for each one. He is careful, with everyone, except maybe himself. 

It’s why they make a good team. Even if neither of them realizes it yet. Because Jack is careful enough with Mac for the both of them. Mac will risk himself to save the world, but Jack will risk everything to save Mac. 

“First floor is clear,” Mac says with one final look around. “Heading up.”

Jack watches the street again. It remains quiet. A few snowflakes flutter through the air, nearly blending in with the monotonous sea of beige. Melting before they have a chance to land. 

“You know, in all the challenges I’d expected to face, snow in Kabul was not one of them.”

“Is it snowing?” 

Jack smiles at the excitement in the kid’s voice. “Not enough to build a snowman.”

“Still, makes it seem more like Christmas.”

“You’re from California. What do you know about a white Christmas?”

“Mission City is in Northern California. We got snow sometimes. What about Texas?”

“It never lasted, but we’d get a snowfall or two most years. Usually more in January.”

“I’ve got it,” Mac interrupts surprised. 

“How’s it look?” Jack leans forward, prepared for anything. He can hear the shrug in Mac’s voice as he answers. 

“Big.”

“Great. Of course, it’s big. It’s never not big. No one ever thinks to build a small easy to disarm bomb. What are you lookin’ at?”

“Not sure, yet, but you’d better settle in. This could take a while.”

Wrinkling his nose as a snowflake lands on it, Jack pulls his jacket tighter. “Could use that extra pair of socks Bozer sent me now. Tie ‘em together and make a new scarf since you took mine apart last week.”

Mac grunts, fully engrossed in his task. 

“When my MeeMaw made that scarf she was planning on it protecting me from the cold, not from a bomb. Don’t tell her that’s what happened to it though. I’ll just say one of the guys in the barracks is a klepto and stole it. Like he steals all my stuff.” Jack chuckles to himself. 

The snow is getting heavier. The flakes now fat, wet clumps, that don’t melt immediately when they hit the ground. 

“Where Humvees glisten, and Overwatches listen to hear Mac disarm the bomb,” Jack half-hums a few bars. “You ever see White Christmas? The movie? It’s not quite the Christmas classic that Die Hard is, but it has its moments.”

Jack can just make out Mac’s figure through the window, hunched over the explosives.  


“My mom and sister were always about those Hallmark movies. I thought they were kind of cheesy. The sheer power of the Christmas spirit going balls to the walls to bring two people together by December twenty-fifth. But the last time I was home for Christmas, musta been three years ago now, I kinda got drawn into one of ‘em.”

A steady stream of conversation, white noise for Mac while Jack remains waiting and watching, ever on alert.

“And I won’t deny it. I’m secure enough in my masculinity to admit it. We were all sitting there, stringing popcorn, and the next thing I know I’m rooting for these two people to tell each other ‘I love you.’ And it was a pretty decent movie. The Fonz was in it. If Fonzie can do a Hallmark movie then I guess I can watch it. Maybe they remember which one it is so when we go out there for Christmas we can watch it. And MeeMaw can make you your own scarf so you can stop stealing mine.” 

“Hey, Jack.”

“I won’t tell her you’re the scarf thief.” 

“It’s a remote detonator,” Mac says. 

"Damn." Jack focuses on keeping his heart rate steady. “Any idea what kind of range?” He asks swinging his gaze up and down the street, watching windows of adjacent buildings for movement.

“It’s a cell phone trigger.”

“So, he could be anywhere? Alright, Mac, blow it and get the hell out of there,” Jack orders.

“The structural integrity is already damaged. If I blow it, it’ll take down the whole building,” Mac argues. 

“Hate to tell you this, slick, but the building is half-down already.”

“There are a lot of civilians around, Jack. I don’t know what kind of damage it will do if it comes down.” 

“I’ll get us some backup. You get out of there.”

“There are some components here that I don’t recognize,” Mac says in a tone that Jack has learned to hate. One where Mac is about to disobey a direct order. “If I can disarm it, I can bring it back so we can study it. It will help if we ever run across this bomb maker again.”

“Damn it, MacGyver,” Jack growls, radioing in their position and requesting an assist with a civilian evacuation, which always makes an already tense situation that much worse. “At least get out here and put on a suit.”

“There’s not really time. And if this thing goes, it’ll just be a waste of a disposal suit.” 

Jack growls in exasperation, muttering about bomb nerds without self-preservation. “--some nerve to say that Deltas run towards trouble, we, at least, know when to duck.” 

“What--” Mac’s voice breaks off with a yell. 

There’s movement in the window, and Jack zeroes in, scanning for danger. For whatever made Mac move when Jack’s orders couldn’t. His finger on the trigger. 

Chirping electronic notes ping through the comms. 

Jack watches in horror. Through the scope, he can see the fear on Mac’s face. The way his eyes dart to the ground and widen at the distance between it and him, before he throws himself out the window. He’s in the air just a second before a roar shatters the stillness. 

A blast of heat that Jack can feel from here, warms his cold cheeks.

The force of the explosion sends Mac hurtling towards the ground. 

Jack flinches back, hand instinctively covering his head. The shockwaves reverberating through his body. Pummeling against him. 

Shaking his perch. 

He feels sick at the power of the blast rumbling through him, and he was half- protected from its strength. 

Slowly, he lifts his head. Heavy and spinning. The world of beige too bright against his eyes. Dust and smoke curling with snow. 

He screams for Mac.

Ears shrieking. 

A crater where the building used to stand. 

The world is quiet. Waiting.

Muted.

Just the constant ringing. And the steady thud of his pulse. 

If Mac can even answer him, Jack doesn’t think he’d hear it over the resounding shrill. 

If Mac was yelling for help. 

Or moaning in pain.

Or screaming because the blast tore him apart, it would be reduced to a hush in the resonant echo. 

“Come on, come on.” Even his own voice is distant. 

Squinting through the scope, searching for his partner in the rubble, scanning the area for additional threats. 

The dust clears. A pile of debris shifts, catching Jack’s eye. Mac curled protectively around himself on the ground. But his eyes, blurry from the concussive blast and obstructed from this angle, can’t make out the rise and fall of the kid’s chest. 

Jack clambers from his nest, stumbling and swaying, nearly crashing to the ground. The force of the detonation wrecking havoc with his equilibrium. Swallowing back nausea. He doesn't have time to be sick.  


“No, no, no. Don’t you do this to me, Junior.” 

His head is spinning, vision blurring, chiming bells clanging in his brain with a strength that nearly knocks him over. 

His careening gait sends him sprawling to the ground, scrambling to regain his footing. 

Mac is on his back by the time Jack reaches him, trying to remember how to breathe. Chest spasming, choking on dust. 

Jack’s hands frame his face. “MacGyver, you with me?”

Mac blinks owlishly at him, mouth falling open as if to answer, but he can’t catch his breath. Short panting gasps that do nothing to ease the panic his contracting chest causes. Eyes roving wildly. Blood trickling from under his helmet. 

“Are you hurt?” Jack leans in close, peering into wide eyes, using his body to shield the dim sunlight and check Mac’s pupil reactions. Contracting and dilating appropriately, equal and reactive. 

Jack leans back on his heels searching up and down the street to make sure they’re still clear, changing the radioed request for help to include a medic and Cas-evac.

“Jack,” Mac wheezes, hands scrambling against Jack’s arm. 

“I’m right here,” Jack assures. “Not going anywhere.” 

Squinting, Mac shakes his head. “I can’t hear you.” His breath still comes in shallows puffs. “Too loud.” A finger coming up to press against his ear. 

“It’s the explosion,” Jack says slowly. “My ears are ringin’ something fierce too.” 

Mac frowns, reading Jack’s lips. “Are you okay?”

With a snort, Jack shakes his head. “I wasn’t thrown through the air like a gangly reindeer learning how to fly. Nah, nah, nah,” he pushes a hand against Mac’s chest as the younger man struggles to rise. “Stay down. Let me check ya over.”

“The explosion... “ Mac wriggles under Jack’s grip, fear in his eyes, trying to sit up. To look down the length of his body, and make sure he’s still intact, raising a hand, counting. 

“You still got all your fingers and toes, hoss. You’re still whole. Can you tell me where you’re hurtin’? You feel like anything is busted up inside?” Jack systematically runs his hands across Mac’s torso checking for internal bleeding. Then across his shoulders and down each limb in turn, searching for injuries and shrapnel.

Mac latches onto the sleeve of Jack’s jacket, keeping him close. 

Jack pulls a pair of socks out of his pocket. “Don’t tell Bozer,” he warns, as folds up one sock and presses it to the cut on Mac’s forehead.

Mac hisses and tries to pull away. Jack catches his chin, holding him steady. “Don’t move. Not til the medic gets here. Not unless we have to.” 

Jack watches with dark eyes narrowed as the street comes alive again with people pouring out of the other buildings at the sound of the explosion, investigating the aftermath. They give the two soldiers a wide, suspicious berth. This is going to be a nightmare. 

He keeps Mac’s focus on him. The kid doesn’t need to see the fear of the civilians. Doesn’t need to be trying to get up and dig through the rubble, searching for wires and triggers and worrying that he wasn’t fast enough. He doesn’t need the guilt. The only reason he is here is to save lives. 

Through the buzz in his head, he hears the blades of the helo chopping the air. Jack covers Mac from the backwash as the bird touches down, sending a small dust storm through the streets. Scattering the civilians.  


“Damn, Dalton, you boys decided not to wait for us, after all?” The medic asks as moves next to his patient, completing a quick, focused assessment. 

“Bomb-maker set it off. Remote detonator. Kid was thrown out the second story window,” Jack reports, squinting at the medic as he listens and half-reads lips. Mac's hand keeps him from moving away. And truthfully, he couldn't make himself leave the kid's side.

“Jumped,” Mac argues. “Tucked and rolled.”

“That he can hear,” Jack grumbles. 

“Won yourself a backboard, Specialist,” the medic states. “What about you, Sergeant? You get caught in the blowback?” 

“I’m good.”

“You’re bleeding,” the medic points to a trickle of blood that Jack hadn’t noticed. “Might as well come with us, instead of stumbling around out here with a head injury you’re too stubborn to admit to.” 

Jack doesn’t protest. It’ll be easier to keep an eye on the kid if he rides in with them. No telling where Mac might get off to, what kind of trouble he’ll get into without Jack there watching his back. 

He’s separated from the kid as soon as they arrive on the base. Mac strapped to a cot to keep him from moving until a doctor can look him over, while Jack stubbornly tries to follow behind. Despite his protests, he’s pulled into his own curtained off exam cubicle. Neuro status assessed, cut on his forehead stitched, abrasions on his hands and the exposed skin of his neck cleaned and dressed. 

His hearing will return in a couple of days, he thinks that's what they tell him. Not entirely sure because of the chiming that still follows him. His own personal church bells ringing a Christmas carol. Off duty until the tinnitus clears but free to return to the barracks.

Mac isn’t quite as lucky as Jack but they both consider this a Christmas miracle. He’s bruised to hell and back. Muscles and joints stiff and sore, and stuck in the medical unit for observation over night but nothing broken and no new holes in him. 

He’s sitting up in bed, a paperclip between his fingers and smiles as Jack enters the room. 

“How you doin’, kid?” Jack asks, settling on the chair next to the bed.

Mac’s smile is puzzled. He points to his ear. “Can’t hear you.” He says a touch too loudly. 

“That’s convenient. Like you really need another excuse to ignore me,” Jack shakes his head. “Don’t give me that innocent smirk, maybe you can’t hear me, but you know what I’m saying. And you’re plotting on how to use the carol of the bells playing in your head to your advantage.” 

Mac shrugs. 

“I should tell Santa that you’re not the angel you pretend to be. Make him take back the Christmas present I got for ya.”

Mac sits up straighter in the bed, ignoring the wince when the motion pulls stiff muscles. His eyes bright with excitement. “You got me a Christmas present?”

It’s Jack’s turn to shrug innocently.

“What is it?”

“You gotta wait until Christmas day, dude.”

Mac frowns, parsing together what his partner is saying from the words that make it through the buzz and his lip reading skills. “I didn’t make you wait.” 

“But you believe in Santa, don’t ya, kid? Then you know the gifts don’t arrive until Christmas Eve night. Better hope the guards don’t shoot down the sleigh.” Jack smiles at Mac's disappointed look. "It'll be here before you know it. Only three more sleeps until Christmas."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to say THANK YOU to everyone who has been reading these stories. I know I'm behind in replying to comments and my askbox on tumblr (and keeping up with the wonderful stories everyone is working on) but I want you to know that I so appreciate all your support over the last few weeks! You guys are the reason I write these crazy ideas down to share them instead of just daydreaming, so thank you!
> 
> If you're wondering what Hallmark Christmas movie Jack was watching it's "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" and it's adorable.


End file.
